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“Can I tell you something I’ve never told you before?” Charlie asks Meryl one afternoon, out of the blue. They are propped up against the wall at the Rochester airport in New York, their hands both wrapped around very large Starbucks cups, and Charlie is chewing on the insides of his cheeks, the way he always does when he is teetering on the edge of dangerous conversation.
Meryl’s eyes go wide, but she leans back against the wall to face her skating partner.
A number of scenarios immediately flash through Meryl’s mind: he doesn’t like skating with me, he is secretly bulimic, he wants to retire, he actually had eaten magic mushrooms that one time when Fedor, Ben and Tanith had dared him to–
“Um, sure,” she says instead. She takes a too-large gulp of her coffee, and her eyes water as it burns down her throat.
“So…” Charlie says, looking determinately in the opposite direction. “Remember how, like, years ago, how I told you that I figured out Shibs was gay?”
“Yep,” Meryl says.
“And... do you remember how I said I’d figured it out?”
Meryl makes a face. “Of course. You walked in on him and another guy, during that one party at your place, right?”
“Right,” Charlie says.
There’s a long pause.
“Um. I sort of, eh, lied about that.”
Meryl, in the middle of another sip of coffee, does a literal spit-take, only barely turning her head away from Charlie in time.
“What?” she croaks, her eyes burning again. The remaining coffee sloshes dangerously high in her cup as Charlie pats her back.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Meryl says, rubbing her fingertips together impatiently. “So?” she continues, probing. “You didn’t walk in on him apparently, so how did you find out?”
Charlie nods, kneading his lips together.
“Seriously,” Meryl presses. “What were you going to say? I know you’re not lying about Shibs being gay. He has a date this week. With a really hot guy.” Meryl draws out the last part, her mouth contorting in amusement as she does so.
Charlie bites his lip, taking a long sip of the extra chocolate, extra whip, White Chocolate Mocha he’s drinking. He won’t meet her eyes, pretending to study the holly-design on the Christmas-themed paper cup instead. “It was me,” he whispers, finally.
Meryl’s brain is a half-second behind. “What was you?” she asks. But right before Charlie can answer, she catches up, and her mouth forms a long “o” shape. One hand flies up to her mouth as she lets out a long breath.
“It was you?” she asks, incredulously. She scoots forward so the fronts of her shins are pressed up against his, and she wraps her hands around his knees. Meryl leans forward, peering at Charlie from underneath. “You were giving Alex a blow job?” she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.
“No,” Charlie quickly corrects. “He was, um, the one, uh, doing the work.” Charlie laughs nervously, and Meryl wonders how much more he’s going to tell her.
Holy shit, she thinks.
“What?” Meryl croaks again, and her brain seizes up, causing the cup to slide right out of her hand, onto her lap and across Charlie’s knees. She swears a little under her breath. Charlie automatically extends his napkin to her, and she scrubs frantically at her delicate pink sweater.
Sighing, Meryl stands up, handing Charlie her cup.
“Hold that thought,” she says, her finger pointing defiantly at him, as she runs off in the direction of the bathroom.
Rochester is deserted, and she can clamber immediately into a stall, wheezing. Most male figure skaters have their Big Gay Epiphany at some point, realizing they definitely are queer, or that they definitely are not, usually through a clichéd ritual, but ill-advised hook up.
It’s an unspoken thing, but pretty much every guy she knows has gone through it at some point or another. Except Charlie.
Or not, Meryl corrects herself.
It occurs to her that she has no idea what this means.
She’s suddenly reminded of the day Jeremy Abbott had admitted to her that he liked boys. A part of Meryl had been heartbroken at the time, but a part of her was so happy that he’d finally figured it out. It had been obvious to everyone else that Jeremy was into guys; it just took Jeremy a little longer to figure it out himself.
But Charlie? He’s always seemed so completely confident in his own body; utterly unfazed by the advances of other (male) skaters.
Was this Charlie’s Big Gay Epiphany?
Or has he been sleeping with guys all along, and she’s just had no idea? How much does she really know about Charlie? Has he been hiding other things from her?
Meryl had been almost one-hundred percent sure that Charlie was straight as an arrow. He’s never demonstrated even a passing interest in another guy, as far as she knows.
But Charlie isn’t one to volunteer information about his sex life. Everything she knows about it had come out as a matter of happenstance, or necessity--she’d found out he was dating Tanith only because she couldn’t find him in his room one morning at Champs Camp; and she heard all about Charlie’s first real kiss only because Trevor announced it to everyone at the rink the Monday after it had happened.
But Meryl has never been one to ask for details, and Charlie’s never really shared.
It’s made for a handful of awkward moments, but for the most part, it’s kept the drama out of their partnership, and kept them focused on work.
Right now, though, Meryl wants nothing more than to know everything.
Just goes to show you never really know, Meryl tells herself. As Jeremy’s perpetual pseudo-beard, she’d sat through more than one angst-filled speech about how sexuality and desire aren’t fixed points, but are part of a continuum. There are principle desires that drive most people, but circumstances and feelings and attraction can change.
But again, it makes her wonder what else she doesn’t know about Charlie.
When she comes back, the stain is now gone, and she is sporting a large, wrinkled wet spot in its place. Meryl frowns at Charlie, before crossing her legs and sitting directly in front of him on the floor. He hands her back the cup with a sheepish expression.
“Sorry?” he says.
“You should be!” Meryl chides, but there’s a smile lurking on her lips.
“So,” Meryl starts, tracing circles on the top of his right knee.
“So,” Charlie replies. She can see him trying to hold a serious face, but he starts laughing again nervously.
She can see the color rising up into his cheeks, and she has to force herself hold back a giggle. There’s something adorable and hilarious about his visible discomfiture. Maybe because it so rarely surfaces. Her partner is so seldom ruffled, often using humor to deflect any potential awkwardness.
Meryl tries another tack. “That was, like, more than eight years ago. Why are you telling me this now?”
Charlie looks up at her finally. “I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tells her abruptly. “In fact, I’m not even bi – I don’t – I’m not really attracted to guys.”
“Okay…?” Meryl says, stretching the last syllable out probingly.
“But, I…” Charlie frowns and leans his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “That was one of the few times I was ever, like, really drunk.”
“Okay,” Meryl says again. Now that they’ve gotten this far, she has an idea of where the conversation might be going.
“And I, like – I feel like I just –“ He shakes his head. “I feel like I kind of used him in that moment, you know? I mean,” he laughs again, tonelessly. “We were both wasted, okay? But, like – I just let him suck me off, and then, I like … I realized I didn’t want to have anything else to do with it, and it just …”
Charlie frowns.
“I felt like such a piece of shit the next day,” Charlie continues. “For years, I’ve prided myself on my control, like - I’m the guy who’ll go to bed at 9 pm instead of going out, because I have practice the next day, you know? And then – the one time I let myself go, like, really go, and…”
Meryl takes his hand. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says. “Well, not totally your fault… like you said.”
Charlie takes her other hand, gripping it tightly, and pulls their shins back together. “But it still… I dunno. I still beat myself up over it, like, I was curious, and stupid, and drunk, and I just...It was all about me, not because I really wanted that from him, but because I was out of control, and I betrayed a friend’s trust, not just because of that, but, I mean, everything…”
Meryl gnaws at her lower lip before pressing further. “So… before…” she starts. “You said he told you the next morning?” Meryl asks. “How he…”
“Yeah, that part’s true,” Charlie sighs. “The next morning, I just – I just wanted to run away, like, pretend that nothing had happened, but Alex stopped me. He, um, yeah – he wanted me to know he was, um… you know – gay.” Charlie shakes his head, ashamed, two splotches of red rising up on his cheeks. “I made up the part about the other guy when I told you – because I – I had to tell someone at the time, but I was too embarrassed to admit -- I mean -- everything.”
“It’s okay,” Meryl murmurs.
Charlie grimaces. “Tanith doesn’t even know – the whole story. I told her the same thing I told you, after we started dating. I mean…” He lets go of her hand to rub his face, his hand carding back through his hair, “she probably wouldn’t even care it had happened, but I still feel like…”
“I know,” Meryl responds, squeezing his knee. “You have no idea how many times I wished I could have been more like Brooke, or Lauren, or Tanith, even – just the way that they could have fun, and not worry so much about what everyone thought. Everyone always thought I was such a good girl, too, you know?”
Despite himself, Charlie chuckles. “You are a good girl,” he murmurs.
Meryl sighs, and shifts herself around to lean up against the wall next to him, her knee bumping against his. “Sometimes, when we were younger, and we were competing, and working so hard--I wanted nothing more, after a competition, than to just go out, find a random guy, and get wasted and fuck.”
Charlie shakes his head, snorting loudly. “I’m sorry, it’s just really funny imagining you getting all drunk and talking dirty, being all nasty. I think I’ve only seen you drunk once, and you couldn’t stop giggling!”
“And then I passed out!” Meryl laughs. “On Scott Moir’s nasty couch, of all places.”
“Yeah, remember? Emily had to drive us all home and we wouldn’t stop singing 500 Miles, and she was getting so mad at us!” Charlie starts laughing, Meryl joining in.
“She was so mad! I think she was more pissed off at Evan, though, because he kept mooning her in the car!” Meryl is laughing loudly now, doubled over.
“Yeah,” Charlie repeats. “That was disgusting.”
“Yes,” Meryl echoes solemnly. “It was.” Meryl smiles at Charlie, finally, and Charlie turns and grins back at her. “And that is why we don’t get drunk,” she finishes, causing Charlie to snap and point at her.
“Yep,” he confirms, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Because stupid shit happens.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Meryl says. “Everything's still fine between you and Alex! And,” she continues slyly, biting her lip. “Getting drunk helped both you and Alex get through your Big Gay Epiphanies at the same time! And, y’know – you should consider it a compliment.”
“Oh, I do,” Charlie grins, waggling his eyebrows. “And I mean, I guess I’m glad that, like – there’s never going to be that question in my mind, but… I still, just… I don’t know. I feel like – I don’t know.”
“Like you can’t say your shit doesn’t stink, without being a hypocrite?” Meryl asks with a smirk.
The other skaters had always joked about, for as outgoing and friendly as Charlie was, that he somehow had managed to pass through his adolescence and early adulthood with his morality relatively unscathed.
“You always know how to put things so eloquently,” Charlie deadpans.
“I was trying to put it in a way you’d understand,” Meryl responds.
“Oh,” Charlie says. “I see how it is. Make fun of the degenerate. Fine.”
Meryl shakes her head. “Charlie, just stop. You got drunk one time and--” She trails off for a second, considering. “And-- if that’s your worst offense, you are probably are one of the most innocent people we know.”
“Are you saying you’ve done worse?” Charlie asks with a raised eyebrow. He leans over, his expression turning into a full-on grin.
“Is this a competition?” Meryl shoots back, her eyes flashing. “I mean. Maybe in more … recent years, but, I’ve done a few, um, crazy things,” Meryl’s voice trails into squeaks, her face heating up.
“Name one,” Charlie says, right into her ear, his breath hot on her cheek.
“You already know,” Meryl says, her cheek burning against Charlie’s.
Charlie starts laughing, low and loud, as the memory comes back to him. “Oh, my God, are you referring to the hot tub incident?”
“The Memorial Day party at my parents’ house?” Meryl adds. “Um, yes.”
“I have to admit, that was the last thing I expected to catch you doing, but I think your mom was even more surprised.”
“You all were supposed to be gone! How were we supposed to know you’d forget your stupid sunglasses on the deck, and come back for them?” Meryl covers her face in shame. “And my mom saw us, too, ugh.” She groans loudly underneath her hands.
“Just so you know, I had nightmares about Fedor’s bare ass for the next five nights straight.”
Meryl giggles then, shaking her head. “Nightmares, huh?”
“Listen, I have to listen to Tanith joke about my pasty white ass all the time – I didn’t need to be thinking about your boyfriend’s as well.”
Meryl shrugs. “Pasty or not,” Meryl pats him on the side. “It’s one of your better assets.”
She giggles at the unintended pun.
Charlie immediately groans in response. “To be fair - I told her that not everyone can achieve the shade of toasted tangerine that Lysacek perfected.”
There’s a companionable silence between them, and they lean up against each other, feeling oddly light.
“So… do you think I should tell Tanith about that?” Charlie finally asks.
“You could,” Meryl says. “You are getting married. But - I feel like – you’re making this into something bigger than it is. It was one night, in college.”
“No,” Charlie says. “It’s just – she’s told me a lot about her past, you know? And I feel like, by not saying something, I’ve been keeping this secret from her.” Charlie laughs, then quips, “I think I’m just afraid she’ll drink too much some night and start asking Alex about my dick!”
Meryl shrugs. “She’s your fiancée, Charlie. Do whatever’s best for you guys.”
“Yeah,” Charlie sighs.
Meryl’s pretty sure he has no idea what he’s going to do.
“I am glad you told me, though,” she grins. “Because I have been worrying about your Big Gay Epiphany for years. My biggest nightmare was you being forty years old and suddenly realizing there was nothing more you wanted than to get your hands around Ben Agosto’s balls.”
“Oh my God, Meryl. Did you get that coffee spiked, or something?”
Charlie’s face is starting to color again, and Meryl makes an amused noise in the back of her throat. “You’re such a prude, Charlie, and I love you for it.”
“I’m not a prude, you’re just a closet pervert,” Charlie grumbles. “You probably get off on it.” He twists his mouth up, provokingly.
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“You started it!”
“I would beg to differ,” Meryl protests. A tinny voice announces their flight and she stands, offering Charlie a hand up. “You’re the one who opened up the confession booth.”
“I thought this was a sacred place,” Charlie jokes.
“Yes,” Meryl chirps in a sing-song voice. “The sacred airport terminal, where deep, dark confessions go to die.” She glances over at Charlie, who’s eyeing her with a hint of relief. “Mum’s the word,” she murmurs, leaning into him, “As long as no one ever hears about that hot tub incident, either.”
“Hmm,” Charlie says, rolling his eyes up in pretend contemplation. “I guess I need to cancel that press release, then?”
Meryl slugs him on the forearm.
“Too bad I can’t burn the images of Fedor’s butt that are seared into the back of my mind,” he adds.
Meryl rolls her eyes, as she follows him onto the jet way.